Pox Watch, Day 6,894/Half Term Day WhyIsItNotOverYet – We’re still alive. Barely.

He’s eaten his weight in fruit.© Mocha Beanie Mummy

Isaac has succumbed to Facial Orifice Fluid (as have I)

© Mocha Beanie Mummy

We’ve watched a LOT of crap TV (did you know that 4 hours of back-to-back Fireman Sam can render an adult temporarily brain dead?)© Mocha Beanie Mummy

I used a LOT of this. It’s not in the photo, but in addition to what you see on the table, there’s a massive tub full of Lego too.© Mocha Beanie Mummy

It’s not easy building Lego stuff with a sick child coughing and sneezing down your neck asking “Have you finished it yet? Is it done yet? What is it Mommy? What are you building? Why are you building it? Why haben’t you finished it yet? Can I play with it when you’ve finished it? I want to play with it please, can I Mommy?”

For reasons which should be obvious, Wine o’ Clock is now at 4pm until Monday.

Blognonymous – I Miss My Son

This post was written anonymously and submitted to Blognonymous for publishing on this blog. Please feel free to leave your help and support should you wish, in comments below. Many thanks.

oOoOoOoOoOo

BlognonymousWhere do you start? I actually started my blog to write about what happened to us because there is nothing out there. But then, and even now, we were so ashamed of the crimes of the father that I did nothing and blogged about life instead. So here I am a few years later in the eye of another storm, a result of what happened  earlier. If this blog seems all over the place it probably is because my brain is scrambled.

To the outsider I am a strong person. I’m an attractive woman with a good job and a nice house. I have got my two children through hell and held a family unit together. It’s not been easy and the road has been a hard one. My ex husband was arrested and found guilty; he showed absolutely no remorse and served an indeterminate sentence.

I have two children, a son and daughter. They have both struggled in their own ways. My daughter seems to be coming through it now and making head way. Self confidence is slowly being restored and a purpose to life regained. My son, who is 17, is a different matter. He has had so many offers of help from counselling to being engaged with more sporting activities to assist him with the stress. All fell on deaf ears. I haven’t got a problem he would insist. As of 4 weeks ago he no longer lives with us. 2011 became the year of hell with his moods swings and levels of violence increasing. He has become addicted to strong marijuana which he felt aided his low self esteem and depression. He has been stealing from me to support his habit once he lost his job. He has no respect for anyone including himself. To release stress he self harms. The abuse towards me has intensified over the past few months to an intolerable level. My health has suffered and I have been in tears on the way home from work worrying about what I will return to.

Pre Christmas he had what can only be described as a drugs psychosis and he scared the life out of me. I didn’t know if he was going to stab himself or me or just smash up the house. I was advised if he ever looked like he was going to do that level of damage to himself, me or the home then I had to ring the police. And that is what I had to do 4 weeks ago. Watching the police officers rush my son to the ground and cuff him will stay with me forever. He was a danger to himself and others as he threatened to slit his wrists. On examination in the cell, whilst superficial, his body was covered in cuts. A good friend was custody sergeant that day and I have a lot to thank him for. We are now on a domestic abuse register and my son spent a very confused week bumming a place to sleep form one friend to another. Fortunately one of my friends stepped in and gave him a place to sleep for a couple of nights and somewhere he listened to what she had to say.

Between us we managed to avoid him going into a hostel and got him some secure accommodation in a student halls even though he only just scrapes through on his age. I helped him move in and he has been home a couple of times for dinner. The first time nearly broke my heart when we took him back. He is a lost soul needing so much help. He hasn’t been to college once since he got a roof over his head, he has little money and hasn’t taken any of the help offered. Apparently he just wants to come home and make things right with me but fails to reply or make any contact even though I put credit on his phone. If he continues not to turn up to college then he will lost the support he has there and they have been absolutely fantastic. He’s tried one session of counselling last week and asked my sister to accompany him. She could tell that he was there because he felt he had to and the counsellor picked up on it too. We doubt he will go again.

When your children leave home I always felt it would be planned with a date in mind and a slow build up. The sense of loss would still be there but you would be there in the back ground helping them on to the next stage of their journey. This is so very different. Every time you think you have hit rock bottom we still fall even further. The worry this has caused me indescribable. This is my child and he’s in a terrible place, mentally. Tough love is hard to administer and I just hope it works! It is my worst nightmare. This is what I thought may happen when the “awful terrible” happened 4 years ago. I have lost a husband and now I have lost my son. I have no idea when this nightmare will end and the only positive is that my daughter and I can move around our home without being frightened and she is getting on with her life and complete her final her at school without being fearful. For that I am eternally grateful.

I cannot begin to describe the feelings of loss I have. After having no contact with his father I have written a letter to my mother in law who seems to be under the impression life is as it was always planned. A levels university and so on. It couldn’t be further from the truth for him. I live in hope that I have known of others who have fallen foul of drugs and depression and but eventually come through it. I don’t how long that will be and when I will see him again. I miss my son and want him back.

Pox Watch Day 4/Half Term Day 1 – Exactly what kind of sweet hell IS this?

You know when you start celebrating something faaarrrrrrrrr too early? And, you’re not smug about it, but you sure as hell feel victorious on the inside?

Seriously, there was NO smugness, because quite frankly, you were so relieved you were planning a spending a week crying in a corner?

Yeah, screw that.

It’s half term this week, so obviously, Noah has chicken pox. OMG does he have chicken pox. He’s currently sitting on the sofa, Calpol’d up to his eyeballs, almost unrecognisable because his face is PLASTERED in calamine lotion. I thought Isaac had it bad? Ohhh God I was so so very wrong.

Not only is he suffering on the surface, he’s riddled with FOF and a delightful hacking cough (as is his brother). Also like his brother, he cried through most of his porridge and calamine bath, and the only thing that seems to be working on him is the placebo of putting cream directly onto his skin. Which works for as long as it takes for him to feel itchy again.

Which is about 3-5 minutes.

I’m amused watching the effects of Calpol; he looks (and sounds) like crap, then about 2 minutes after a dose, he’s excitedly playing with whatever is nearest, ignoring my pleas of “take it easy Noah” and “don’t roll around on the floor because it will make you sore” and “no, you can’t go and play outside, trust me”. This lasts about 10 minutes, then it’s back to the moaning and groaning noises of a child on their last legs.

The Mr is going to learn the hard way that pandering to this every time will land him firmly wrapped around Noah’s little finger. Isaac managed this in a very skilled fashion; I sat back, played the role of The Tough-Love Mom while laughing behind my hands. Both kiddos call for their Dad in the middle of the night now because they know I won’t sit and have a 10 minute conversation with them.

Hah.

So! Half term. It’s going to be awesome. I suspect it will look something like this:

He’s watching marathon sessions of Fireman Sam on Cartoonito. Good times, right? Good times.

Every so often I go through periods on twitter where I have to step away. Be it yet another mash-up, or some other shit kicking off, or yet another meltdown impending and I/they should most likely take it off-line. Contrary to popular belief, I do NOT like to be at the centre of twitter shit; for as long as I can remember I’ve always hoped to GOD it wasn’t anything to do with me. I hate confrontation and will only rise to it if really pushed.

You know who you are. I haven’t forgotten what you said.

I have my moments; we all do. Bit maudlin, but try and bounce back. I try to be nice; if I wouldn’t say it to your face, I wouldn’t say it on twitter. Anyone who’s spent 30 seconds with me will know that. Honesty beats my backside with a paddle – I wish I could be a better at bullshitting.

So why, someone please tell me, do people behave like utter arse holes? Why do people think it’s ok to be spectacularly rude to others they have never EVER met? I have one or two people who follow me, who insist on answering almost all of my “open” tweets with a shitty and very unfunny answer. Most often, never a good word to say. So if my tweets offend you, why do you follow? If my tweets are “TMI”, why do you read them? Have you nothing better to do?

There are very few people on twitter who I claim to KNOW. Sure I know people on there, by face, name, avatar…maybe certain mannerisms, tweet behaviours, blog posts, whatever. But there’s only a tiny handful whom I KNOW, having spent time with them OUTSIDE of twitter. So forgive me if I get fucked off when people are all up in my face like they “KNOW” me, and feel like they can say whatever they like, offensive or not. (Usually offensive, hey ho.) If you think you’re being funny by being a smart ass, may I suggest you take 5 seconds to rethink your tweet, and the take a further 5 minutes to think whether I would appreciate that tweet?

As long as I’m having a twitter stint, whether it’s 2 minutes or 2 hours, I talk to as many people as I can. I’ll return conversation if I can. I’ll start up conversation if I can. You sensing the theme yet? Yes, that’s right, I hate to break it to you but I’m only human. And I’m not a very good one, either. I may only be following blah blah (I don’t know, you go check) but I’m pretty sure that it’s not nearly as many who are following me. So do some maths. If I’m conversing with people I follow, and then people whom I don’t follow also talk to me, it’s going to get busy, right? And as I’m only human (we established this earlier, remember?) it’s more than likely I’ll fall over at some point, and pretty much fail.

I’ve been on twitter long enough to have had more than enough stick from people I do not know and also do not know me. I’ve been on twitter long enough to justify being very reserved with people who make me a teeny bit twitchy. I’ve also been on twitter long enough to know that I am well within my rights to unfollow someone if I want to, just as people can unfollow me any time they like. It really, genuinely, truly does not bother me. It’s ok. It’s not the end of the world.

Anyhoo, I do love twitter, I’ve made some great friends. I’ve got a whole ton of support from people when times have been spectacularly shit. I have built up my business with the biggest supporting network being twitter. I can’t thank you enough for this. But, you know, just try not to be too weird with me, ok? Remember I might come across as crazy (us crazies call it “eccentric”, I’ll have you know) but I’m still a human, who takes stuff on board.

And if you wouldn’t say shit to my face, then don’t say it to my twitter profile. Because for me, it’s not just a twitter profile.

*smooches*

Procrastination. I will be coming back to this post for future reference.

Nyan Cat.

Nyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanya,
nyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanyanya.

Ok just click here and tell me what your record was. And remember, Nyan Cat haz a flavor. I’ve only managed 23 seconds so far, but I am supposed to be working, remember.

*cough*

And then Nyan Cat has a . Trust me on this one.

And THEN, when your eyeballs have all but bled out of their sockets, give them a break by asking yourself this. Where’s the pixel?

0.9 seconds. Just saying.

Thank you, twitter, for providing some epic time wasting websites. If I forget to collect my children from school, I’m obviously blaming you.

#JustSayin’.